Lenewé
Personality Len, upon first meeting, can be quite a difficult person to figure out. As of late, he's taken almost chameleon tendencies, sub consciously showing different sides of himself to different groups of people. On the surface, he's rough, brash and swears like a sailor (when not in the presence of his 'better half' as he calls him, that is). Since he joined the Crimson Ashes, however, he's warmed up considerably and learned the 'fine art of tolerance'. He's quite blunt and has a nasty habit of offending people (Mostly unintentionally. Mhm.) when expressing his opinion, but that is something he is slowly and steadily working on. Once rather privately self-conscious, with the Ashes he's softened and learned not to care what others think of him; he's taken up several hobbies he always had wanted to, but felt he could not in his previous merc band. His exploration of mesmerism has also widened further, discovering a flair for magic. Though still subtle and awkward at displaying affection to others, and things such as giving or receiving gifts, Len considers himself to be a more humanised sylvari than average due to his upbringing and company. Saplings and their incessant questions drive him nuts. Appearance Details Len's most striking and prominent feature is no doubt his bright white glow. Though it’s still a very faint, faded pink, he's come to accept it as part of him, and generally doesn't mind it much anymore. His skin is pale silverish-birch-green and eyes the colour of dull steel - they have a minor iridescent quality to them, prone to reflecting flecks of pale green, pink, blue and even red at times. Recently he's grown his hair foliage longer, down to his shoulders; it's necessary for him to tie it back out of his face now, though he does like to take it down when relaxed enough and when to sleep. Short, just under five feet tall, Lenewe's body is thin and wiry and he possess deft, nimble hands. His gait is fluid and elegant, rarely putting a foot wrong. Clothing wise, he generally prefers to grow his own clothing, ranging from tight fitting, more protective wear to longer, casual leafy outfits. It's something he secretly enjoys, he quietly takes a lot of pride in his appearance and almost always tries to look neat and tidy. Recently, he's taken a certain fondness to a baggy, sleeveless hoody and a pair of shorts, finding them easy to move in. Combat wise, Len's mesmer magic appears blue and silver, instead of the average pink and purple. Noone is quite sure as to why, but he pays it little thought since it offers him no trouble when it comes to casting and such likes. Though predominantly a swordsman, Len has taken a solid liking to his magic. Around his torso but mostly hidden under his clothing is a viney harness made by himself to strap either his dual blades to his back or his over-sized one hander that he uses as a great=sword. If he's carrying about his great-sword, he'll have a single one handed blade at his hip. He almost always has a pistol on him too. Though it is rarely seen, the most definitive feature on Len's body is a beautifully intricate curled wing design carved into the left side of his back. The edges glow pale white, like his natural luminescence. Strenghts and Weaknesses 'Strengths' Len is swift and light on his feet, flexible and is capable of acrobatic movements to slip out of harms way. He shines during missions that require stealth or spying, and can obviously squeeze himself into and through tiny gaps and places due to his size and stature. He boasts the ability to climb well, enabling him to make quick escapes if needed. When he was younger, he found roof jumping positively exhilarating in cities. After a few stern words from the Seraph AND Kyrian, he stopped this. He still loves finding high up, hard to find places though. H is ability with mesmer magic grows by the day. Len loves blinking around, and playing with Decoys and stealth. He's proficient with distortion and cloaking magic and with the teachings of Faye Abhorsen, is learning how to project magic through his weaponry. Recently, he's discovered a talent for telekinetically manipulating said blades, by establishing a connection through channeling his magic between himself and the weapon. Think greatsword mesmer auto attack, but potentially with two one handed blades. However, that will take a lot of refining to be combat ready. One of Len's favourite abilities is that he can project a memory or thought of his own into a recipient through touch. The recipient has to be willing due to Len's inability, but he completely takes over to project a memory, as if they were looking through Len's eyes during it. Len is also an incredibly talented mathematician and finds numbers beyond therapeutic. 'Weaknesses' As dexterous as he is, Lenewe's physical strength only stretches as far to his own weight and his weapons; he'd struggle immensely if needed to carry anything too heavy, though it is amusing to watch him try and prove he's not weak and feeble. If needed to move someone, he would have to resort to an ungraceful dragging from under the arms. Because of his lack of physical strength, should he be hit in a fight, he will probably quite literally go flying. Len is also quite ulitmately a victim to his own thoughts. Terrified and secretly convinced the sylvari race are the minions of the Jungle dragon. He rarely talks about his fears seriously and is also an incredible hydrophobe, though steps are being taken for him to eventually get over this. Jokes are occasionally cracked about it - Len has no problem with being the butt of quips and jests, but should they turn genuinely malicious, he can and will lash right back out. His fuse for derogatory racist slurs is notoriously short. Background 'Dream' It was beautiful. A swash of muted, pastel colours. A canvas of trees stretched upwards, swashes of paint splashing upwards to form the surrounding forest. Lenewe lay on his back, below the currents of gentle wind that dared to softly caress his face. He felt very little, just a lilting, echoing harmony of the area around him. Barely coherent whispers played at his ears with a fluid yet rippling dance that dared him to dance with them; there was something else, however, in his private sanctuary of blurred colour. He joined the whispers with strings of words he did not know the meaning of, yet felt such a close, intimate, inner working meaning to... He closed his eyes. Something did not feel right. A sensation he did not recognise dove into his thoughts - The streaks of verdant greens and teals were splashed by bright, garish, unsettling shades of sunset orange, of yellows and scarlets - They flickered upwards, the whispers sudden barren within his soul. He felt alone, a terrifying lonliness that jerked him upwards. The world around him began to twist, swirl, melt before his very consious and all the sylvari could do was watch in grim fear, yet... curiosity. His sanctuary began to ripple forming into waves before it suddenly ceased to silence. Len looked around slowly, left, right, up, down, then left and right again; he found nothing. It was just as it had been heartbeats ago; A warm contentedness crossed his mind again, the same whispers cautiously licking at his soul. He closed his eyes and lay back, loosing himself once again. 'History' He opened his eyes half way, groggily, blinking away what seemed like a layer of fog. He was comfortable, he didn't want to move. Yet, he felt, there was a tugging at his chest. Not a painful tug but a soft, gentle, inviting tug. Curled on his side, lying within the curled embrace of his pod's fiberous innards, the newborn sylvari made a little meek mewling sound. Like a kitten crying for it's mother. A silver-barked warden leant over on her tiptoes with a grin. "There, here!" She called over her shoulder and a Night mentor quickly shuffled over to the split pod. Inside, the sapling suddenly thrashed out with his legs, causing the pair of older sylvari to jutter back with wider eyes. He clutched his head. Too many sounds, too bright... too sharp! He made the same mewling sound from before, a little crying groan as his senses were voraciously overwhelmed. He took in a raggedy breath, the two frozen in place above him with surprise. 2 3 5 7 11... His tense figure eased into a position of relaxation. His foliage of short, pointed leaves, pulsing a soft white. ...79 83 89 97 101 103... The numbers rolled through his head comfortingly but only fuelled a strange warmth within his chest. The sinewy sapling hauled his arms backwards, rolling himself from his side to lie on his back. Naked, he finally creaked his eyes open fully to- Woah... Focus... His eyes flew open wide, though he quickly winced away and tried cover his face. The Warden smiled crookedly and took his wrists in her gauntleted hands to guide them away. His silver met her kind, crimson eyes. "You're safe, sapling." She hummed quietly. His hands scrabbled up her forearms and she allowed him to crawl up her. She noted he was a light as a feather on the wind, yet his knees struggled to hold beneath him. The Night mentor had bustled off and returned with a woven long-shirt. Together they slipped it over his head and worked his arms through the holes. ...499 503 509 521 523 541... Yes. Yes, that was better. Still limp, the sylvari just endlessly recited a sequence beneath his breath, struggling to draw proper thoughts with the blaring of the world around him. Despite the feeling of safety and home, he found the sudden change jarring; he didn't understand, were was he?! Was was everything so bright, so loud? The Warden carried him to the Mender's bay, where he rested for several days. In time, he learned to walk properly. He developed a smooth, fluid gait and soon found a fondness for dancing. They explained what had happened, who and what he was. They told him he had a family and too, he learned, of their connection. The Dream of Dreams. At first after gaining his bearings those first few days within the Mending bay, Len spent the next week exploring the Grove. Each day he'd explore, despite generally keeping to himself, their city and dance to the pulse of whatever equation happened to be in his head at the time. At night he'd return to the Bay for a meal and rest. Despite being nameless for several days, he eventually came to the conclusion he was called Lenewe. He and the other Menders took a shine to eachother and they eventually took him in as an apprentice. There he lived relatively care-free, cleaning and learning and enjoying every moment of his quiet life. That was, however, until a young yet oddly callous looking human male with the most curious feathered tattoo stretching up his neck, lumbered into the bay. *** "Look at how he walks." Kyrian grunted, sitting back against a stump of some form, lighting up a cigarette and placing it between his lips. He look a deep drag, peering at the little sylvari a while off. Lenewe busied himself with something or other. An asura sat beside the Krytan human with her bright yellow eyes set dead on him. They observed him crititally, narrowed slightly. A jungle stalker lay curled around his mistress, his tail flicking up and down with suspcion. "Hm, yes. I can possibly see where you're coming from, bookah." "Don't you bookah me, rat." "Shush." The male snorted, a plume of smoke puffing from his mouth in waves as he exhaled. "I win." "You most certainly do not! Now, do enlighten me. What in the name of the Alchemy do you think it has going for itself?" "He's scout material right there, Cay! Look... you can barely hear him, he moves with that... that natural grace. He's tiny, too." Kyrian quirked a brow before adding: "Just like you." Cay pursed her lips into a taut expression. "Hmph. How can we possibly train a talking plant how to fight though?" "Fuck if I know. Aren't you supposed to be the clever one?" Cay got up and gave him a reproachful glance. "Fine. Go talk to him." Len met Kyrian first, before the rest of the Phoenix. Curious as to what the strange human was like, he badgered him endlessly for information. However, what he found most fascinating was the dark, feather tattoo that stretched from just above Kyrian's collar-bone, up his neck before ending just under his ear. There, the grizzled guardian begrudingly explained the Blazing Phoenix mercenary company. Len listened with childish fascination. ...And within in the next few hours, found himself packing his meagre belongings and bidding goodbye to his sylvari brethren. He did not cling to his innocence, drinking in all the world had to offer. He did not deny the world's evils, nor did he find himself consumed by their hatred. Len simply followed his new found family as the only sylvari, and there, he was content. Kyrian paid for his first set of swords, which Cay suggested he was given. They tried to wean him into proper studded armor too, but to no avail. He was raised with a healthy respect for the Six, the Tree, the Alchemy and the Spirits; The Phoenix each taught him a facet of their own philsophies but let the sylvari develop his own thoughts and feelings of the world. Much to their surprise, he accepted their views but chose to shrug his shoulders in regards to his own. He either wasn't bothered, or maybe just unsure. Lenewe considered himself to be an adult from just a few months before his second birthday, when he recieved the carving to his back. It was his own choice to accept the proposal, though he did comically whine and complain about it to the point Margo knocked him out to keep him quiet while she worked. Len grew within the Phoenix, quickly becomming a core member amongst their ranks. He watched Margo be passed the leadership, he watched members come and go, fall in love, grow old, die... Somehow, though he deduces it was due to his mathematical ability that easily surpassed even Cay's (she was thick on asura terms, however) and logical, rational thinking, he made his way to Margo's second in command. This was around the time she started swinging him about in bar brawls. The Blazing Phoenix was already a company of some notoriety and only continued to rise as the years went on. They were eventually very well known around Lion's Arch and the surrounding area. However, it was on a tough and ultimately disasterous job that the Phoenix finally met it's match; Len was one of three to survive, the other six passing to the Mists. Originally, Len thought himself to be the only survivor, but two and a half years later, he finally met Margo. Margo survived. The two and a half-ish years that Len spent on his own were the hardest he had to endure so far; He felt the appeal of Nightmare licking at his conscious in his sorrow. The memories echoed through his body, disallowing any coherent thought other than pure survival. The sylvari lived alone, injuries from the battle rotting his body - his ears were once bulb-shaped, however they began to decay. He eventually lost the majority of his left ear and the entirety of his right. In time, Len eventually regrew them though not to their original shape. He found the need to keep them more 'open' to conserve his hearing. To this day, he's susceptible to hearing issues if his care of them wanes for whatever reason. It's an incredibly delicate balance. His memory of his activities before he came across the Ashes are messy and in some places completely missing; Len subconsiously scrambled these out with his own magic, though he's unaware of this. It's generally a period in his life he avoids talking about, purely because he can't quite put his finger on what had occured. If there is one of Ventari's tenets that Len firmly believes in, it is do not fear difficulty. Hard ground makes for stronger roots. Relationships WIP Category:Character Category:Male Category:Sylvari